


WinterIron 8 - Fruitcake

by tisfan



Series: Stocking Stuffers [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baking, Fruitcake, Holidays, M/M, Meta, stocking stuffers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Fruitcake has a bad reputation for something that's sugar, butter, and rum.





	WinterIron 8 - Fruitcake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orbingarrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbingarrow/gifts).



> This ficlet contains mention of black women in service roles, as was historically accurate for the time. Story is culled from author's family history. Including mentions of typhoid fever and nursing gratitude.
> 
> The fruitcake recipe mentioned does exist, but it's an in-family recipe only and I can't give it out. 
> 
> It is, actually, pretty good and nothing like what most people expect from fruitcake.

“What delicious mayhem are you causing in my kitchen, Buck Rogers?” Tony asked, rolling into the kitchen.

“No,” Bucky said, slapping Tony’s hand away from the mixing bowl before he dipped a curious finger in.

“No?” Tony pouted. “I can’t taste?”

Bucky got a clean spoon and dipped it into the mix and handed it to Tony. “I know where your hands have been,” he said, which was usually in the shop and therefore had grease and motor oil and god only knew what else all over his fingers. “And no, you cannot call me Buck Rogers. Anything else, we’re fine, but that sounds like something I would have been doodling in my school notebook back in the thirties, if I’d had a crush on Steve.”

“What, you mean you didn’t?”

“Lord, no,” Bucky said, shuddering delicately. “I mean, I love Steve, but… not like that.”

“Oh.” Tony licked the spoon, swallowing, and Bucky had to look away, not to groan at the sight. “Well, that’s new information. Thought the way you two ‘bout died for each other a dozen times in the last week, that you were totally tapping that ass. No judgements, mind, or anything. What is this?”

_Steve’s ass isn’t the one I want to tap._ “Fruitcake,” Bucky said.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, Elsa, baby, sweetheart, no. What are you making fruitcake for?” Tony said the word like he meant _gutter slime_.

“Fruitcake’s got a bad rap for something that’s made from butter, sugar, and _rum_ ,” Bucky said.

“That’s because it has candied fruit in it, which is the invention of some minor demon of hell,” Tony responded. He hadn’t stopped licking the batter off the spoon, however, Bucky noticed.

“It doesn’t _have_ to,” Bucky said. “Mine’s got raisins and currants and dried figs and dates and apple chunks in it. Stop criticising until you’ve tasted it. It’s my Mom’s mammy’s recipe.”

“Your mother’s what?”

“My mom; she had a black nanny, back in th’ day. And Mammy always made this fruitcake,” Bucky said. “My grandmother kept trying to get Mammy to give up the recipe, and she wouldn’t. It was her secret and she was gonna keep it. Then Mammy ended up gettin’ typhoid fever; not a big deal these days, but penicillin wasn’t available ‘til the War. My grandmother nursed Mammy through the fever, an’ Mammy went on to make a full recovery. And when she was better, she gave my grandmother the recipe, as a thank you.”

“Runs in your family, does it?” Tony asked. “The recipe… and the urge to take care of people.”

“Probably,” Bucky admitted.

“All right,” Tony said. “Impress me with your Mammy’s fruitcake.”

Bucky’d been at it most of the day; he had several cakes in the oven, some on the cooling racks, and a few that he’d drenched with rum and were merrily soaking up the liquor with a cheesecloth wrapping. He could break one out, that’d be okay.

“A’ight,” Bucky said. “Jus’ keep an open mind, okay?” He unwrapped the cake and cut a slice off, releasing the pungent odor of rum and sugar. He cupped his hand under it to catch crumbs and fed Tony the slice.

“Ooooooh, my god,” Tony said, blissfully chewing. “Yeah, okay, okay… what am I supposed t’call you if I can’t call you Buck Rogers?”

Bucky bit his lip, then went for it. “StarkBucks?”

Tony’s eyes went wide. “Oh? Oh. _Oh_.” His tongue flicked out to catch the last crumbs of the fruitcake slice. “Yeah, okay… I can… yeah. I like that. StarkBucks.”


End file.
